Still, I didn't freeze up or break down once I was back in this room that had terrified and excited me before. It looked different, for one thing. The walls were still white, the carpet still ivory, but she'd hung posters up, and it appeared she'd raided Pier One Imports of every remotely gothic wall sconce they carried. The room was way too much of a fire hazard for hyperflammable little me, but I supposed if she wanted to sleep in a death trap, I couldn't complain.

Dahlia lay on the bed, dressed as though she'd been ready to go out for the night. On the bedside table, in front of a metal tree sculpture with twisting branches, from which hung a dozen or more necklaces, spiked collars and chokers, was an empty glass with bloody residue. I lifted it and sniffed. Whatever drug Clarence had used to render her unconscious, he'd wisely picked one that didn't leave a scent. From her shallow breathing, I could tell Dahlia truly was asleep. So I had her where I wanted her, I guessed. But what the hell was I going to do with her?

I paced the room, from the fireplace to the writing desk. I thought of Cyrus sitting there the night I'd come to him. Dahlia's laptop was there now, but the gold-plated desk set was, too, albeit covered in a layer of dust. I pulled out the letter opener and wiped the blade on my shirt, not entirely sure what I intended until my gaze rested on the empty glass at the bedside.

If I had seen Cyrus's and Nathan's pasts in their blood, could I see Dahlia's? Or did it only work if there was a blood tie? I supposed there was no time like the present to find out. I wouldn't drink directly from her. It would be too weird, considering she was the first person I'd ever fed from, and now we were enemies. Plus, things hadn't gone so well for me that first time. I wanted to escape this with as few stab wounds as possible.

I wiped the inside of the glass with my shirttail, hoping the residue of the drug wouldn't knock me out and I rolled back the rubber bracelets on Dahlia's wrist. I took a deep breath, dosed my eyes, and stabbed the point of the letter opener into her arm.

Blood squirted out, and I wiped some from my face, gagging, before I managed to direct the flow into the cup. When It was full enough for a few swallows, I set it aside. I ripped a strip from the sheets and wrapped it tight around her wound. Lifting the cup to my lips, I caught the scent of her blood. It had changed, just as she had, from human to vampire, but beneath the stale, dead scent of vampire blood I caught the smell I remembered from the night I'd fed off her. You never forget your first time.